


Where It's Quiet

by angelicaschuyler



Series: Where We Are, Where We Started [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, M/M, WWAWWSverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:10:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7669567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicaschuyler/pseuds/angelicaschuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and Tumblr prompt fills for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6758629/chapters/15446179">"Where We Are, Where We Started."</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: first snowfall/blizzard of the season ...(i mostly want cuddles and chef elite hot chocolate but do what yo' dirty mind wants)
> 
> I'm [a-schuyler](http://a-schuyler.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!

He’s still half-asleep when George presses a warm kiss against his temple and reaches over him, unplugging his iPhone from the charger. Alex is still sore from the night before, he has no desire to lift his aching body and shuffle off to George’s shower. 

“Hey,” he yawns, nudging George’s leg with his big toe and rolling over onto his side. He presses his lips into George’s shoulder, eyes still closed. “What time is it?”

“Quarter ‘til,” George says, scrolling through his phone.

“Quarter ‘til what?” 

“Eight.”

“God,” Alex groans, slapping a hand against his forehead. “Why are you awake so fucking early? It’s Saturday.”

George looks at him sideways, smiles. “You shouldn’t be surprised by now.”

“Maybe not,” Alex agrees, slinging an arm around George’s waist, snuggling up against his side. When he looks up, George is frowning at his phone. “What are you reading?”

“Well,” George says slowly. “There’s a travel ban.”

Alex snatches the phone out of his hands, ignoring George’s annoyed huff as he rolls onto his stomach. He scrolls through the article, his heart sinking. _Essential personnel only. Anyone on the roads before 5:30 p.m. Sunday is subject to arrest. Wind gusts up to 50 mph, low visibility…_

“Seriously?” Alex demands, handing George his phone and collapsing back into bed. His eyes dart to the windows, but the blackout curtains are still drawn. “This is bullshit. The storm wasn’t supposed to hit overnight.”

“I take it you’re not thrilled to be spending the weekend with me.”

“Stop it. I just don’t want to be shut in for two days with your kale salads and whole grain pastas. Have you ever seen _The Shining_?” 

“Alex, baby? It’s two days. And don’t underestimate me. I have hot chocolate.”

Alex looks at him skeptically. “Dark with no marshmallows, right?”

George arches a thick eyebrow. “Milk with extra marshmallows.”

“Hmm,” Alex muses. “Well, fine. Maybe this won’t be so bad.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a sweltering August day, but Eliza’s elected to roll the windows down as they breeze along I-87, northbound. Says turning off the AC will save them gas, though Alex knows she doesn’t have to worry about the cost of, well, anything. Knows she just wants him to see the way her hair blows, how the wind makes her top shift to show off a pastel pink lace bralette.

He’s driving her Audi - custom paint job, custom leather interior, probably shipped straight from Ingolstadt, just for her. A “starter car,” she’d called it. The black-gold Chanel sunglasses - those have to be custom, too. 

She is so, incredibly out of his league. And there’s no doubt about it - she’s trying to rock the boat. It’s the only reason she’s bringing him up to Albany to meet her parents. But he’s game - he’s _so_ game. If Eliza wants to play, he’ll step up to bat. 

She drapes her arm along the back of the driver’s side seat, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting it around long, delicate fingers. He leans back into it and looks at her sideways, keeping the road ahead in his peripheral vision.

She grins. Perfect, gleaming white teeth. And then her seatbelt is coming off, she’s kicking off heeled sandals and folding her legs underneath her ass, adjusting herself so she’s facing him and - OK. 

He tangles his fingers in her hair - soft from that coconut oil shampoo she keeps in his bathroom - massaging her scalp as she goes down. And, he thinks, as he slows the car, under the speed limit, if he can hold onto her, well - that wouldn’t be so bad. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm [a-schuyler](http://a-schuyler.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, send your prompts there!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: alex is cold/wet/looking pathetic because #reasons, and george has to warm him up.
> 
> a-schuyler on tumblr!

It takes everything in George not to laugh when he finds Alex outside his front door, standing in a puddle of water, an ugly scowl on his face, wet clothes hanging on his thin frame. He’s lucky the hallway is tile - it’ll clean up easy enough. 

George looks him up and down, chuckles softly. 

“Alex, where’s your umbrella?”

“This isn’t from the rain,” Alex snarls, crossing his arms over his chest. George’s amusement suddenly shifts to concern - it’s late November. He must be freezing. “Some douchebag tourist’s Uber pulled up right on the curb and splashed me.”

George grimaces. Rainwater mixed with gutter sludge. He smells it now, too, but doesn’t comment - knows that’ll likely send Alex over the edge, and he’s justifiably in a foul mood already. 

Alex flicks a black strand of hair off his forehead and moves to step through the door. His cheek is smudged with mud. Or, George hopes it’s mud. He hesitates, stops Alex from walking inside with one raised hand. 

“The carpet.” 

Alex’s eyes narrow. “You’re not letting me inside because of your precious carpet?”

“Take off your shoes and socks. I’m getting you a towel.”

Alex huffs pointedly and George ignores him, heading down the hall and grabbing two towels from the linen closet. Alex is holding his shoes in one hand when he returns, wet socks balled up and stuffed inside. George wraps one towel around Alex’s shoulders and kneels down, using the other to soak some of the water out of Alex’s pants.

“At least now I know where I stand,” Alex comments, glaring down at George while he dries him off. “As if you couldn’t afford to get your carpet cleaned.”

“Watch your mouth,” George says with a goodnatured smile, rising to his full height and pulling Alex inside, closing and locking the door behind him before leading him into the master bedroom and, finally, the bathroom. “Take a shower, and then take whatever you need from my closet.”

George doesn’t need to ask twice. While Alex strips out of his soaked clothes, he turns on the shower and flicks a switch next to the sink.

“Heated floors,” George explains, gathering Alex’s clothes and the dirty towels in his arms. “It’ll feel nice when you get out of the shower.”

He catches a ghost of a smile through Alex’s chattering teeth.

–

Alex joins him in the living room once he’s freshly showered, dressed in one of George’s T-shirts from the 2014 New York City Marathon. It’s far too big on him - the sleeves go well past his elbows and the hem just barely covers his ass. It’s not the worst sight, George thinks, eyes lingering a little too long the length of his thigh.

“You ran the marathon?” Alex asks, stretching the shirt out and staring down at it. 

“Three hours, twenty-three minutes and fifty-seven seconds,” George says, meeting Alex in the living room with mulled wine in hand, smiling at the way Alex’s eyes widen when he spots the mugs. He passes him the one garnished with an orange slice. “I doubt I’d do that well now.”

“Oh, stop being humble,” Alex says, playfully flickering his eyes up to George’s as he blows over the glass mug. “I wouldn’t even finish a marathon. They’d have to kick me off the course.”

George laughs, reeling him in with one hand on his waist. “I put your clothes in the washing machine.” He catches a whiff of his own soap on Alex’s skin, smiles. “You smell much better.”

He waits for Alex to take a sip of his drink before going in for a kiss, tasting the honey and cinnamon on his tongue, just a splash of orange. He doesn’t miss the way Alex presses his hips forward with quiet, breathless whine, and George feels his own blood start to heat up.

“I just took a shower,” Alex complains, swatting George’s hand as he tugs up the bottom of his shirt.

George cocks an eyebrow, one hand cupping Alex’s ass. “Then we’ll just have to shower again.”


	4. Chapter 4

Alex is drained by the time they make it back to Brooklyn. There’s a dull ache in his shoulders from the weight of their bags – full of presents they’ve acquired from an afternoon with the Lafayettes and Martha and an evening with Peggy’s family. Heavy candles, novelty coffee mugs, bottled soaps, and other trinkets. A couple tupperware containers full of peanut butter blossoms and leftover turkey. It’s all too much. **  
**

“Dad,” Will says as soon as Alex drops the bags in the entryway, rolling a shoulder. “I’m hungry.”

Angie shrugs off her coat, her eyes lighting up. “We never did make grandma’s pecan pie.”

“I thought George was going to make us crab cakes?”

“Oh my God, you know I have a shellfish allergy-”

“Hey, that’s enough,” Alex snaps, grabbing George’s shoulder for balance and peeling off a snow boot. “We literally just ate a massive dinner at your Aunt Peggy’s. No one’s making pie or crab cakes, or whatever. If you’re hungry we’ve got, like, fifty of these damn peanut butter cookies.”

“George!” Will pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. Alex tenses, but George jumps in before he can respond.

“All right, you two go into the kitchen, OK? Alex,” he says, turning to him once the kids have run off. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You spoil them,” Alex says disapprovingly. “And they know they can count on your to get whatever the hell they want.”

George shrugs. “I don’t mind. Besides, it’s Christmas.”

“Uh huh,” Alex says, softening and offering his cheek when George moves in for a kiss. “I’m gonna go lie down.”

George nods and grabs the bags, heading into the kitchen. Alex pulls off his other boot, listening.

“Hey, Will?” George’s voice carries back to the entryway. “Let’s make the pecan pie so everyone can eat it. You and I can make crab cakes another time, son.”

–

He’s idly scrolling through his Facebook feed when George steps into their bedroom, smelling like butter and sugar and holding a plate with a thin slice of pie. Alex smiles over at him and turns back to his phone.

“Are the kids finally content?”

“They’re flipping through the channels, trying to find a movie to watch,” George says, sitting on the edge of the bed. He cuts off the tip of the pie with his fork. “Try this.”

“Ugh,” Alex says, sticking out his tongue and eyeing the slice suspiciously. “I’ve tried twenty different pies today. I’m good.”

“Alexander.”

“Fine,” Alex says, pushing himself up on an elbow and letting George feed him a bite. He savors the taste for a moment, swallows. “It’s good. Really good. You make it almost as well as my mother-in-law.”

“The kids seemed to think so, too,” George says proudly, taking a bite himself before putting the plate down on the nightstand. He gives Alex’s shin a little squeeze, smiling. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

“Yeah, I did. I mean-” Alex shakes his head, leaning back against the headboard. “Just a lot of running around.”

“Maybe next year we’ll have a quiet one,” George says with a sympathetic smile, grabbing Alex’s hand, kissing his knuckles.

Alex nods and parts his lips as George moves in for a proper kiss, feels the blush rising in his cheeks when two hands fall on his waist, starting to inch his sweater up.

“Hey,” Alex laughs, shivering when George drags him away from the headboard, placing his palm flat on the small of his bare back. “After the kids are asleep.”

George groans theatrically into the crook of his neck, making Alex laugh out loud again.

“Should we join them for the movie, then?” George mutters into his neck. “Or wait it out?”

“We’ve still got half a bottle of Baileys and some decaf, right?” Alex asks. “Wanna turn The Muppet Christmas Carol into a drinking game?”


End file.
